


i fought the law...

by nightbloomings



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Frottage, Handcuffs, M/M, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomings/pseuds/nightbloomings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their first job for Weston, Trevor walked off in the highway patrol uniform. Later that night, he paid Michael a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i fought the law...

When Michael woke up, the main menu of the DVD he'd been watching was on screen again. The last thing he remembered, the detective still hadn't pieced together the last of the evidence; he'd obviously been asleep for a while. He straightened up from his slouched position and turned off the projector. As the title theme of the movie died off, he could hear a police siren. It was close, and coming from the direction of the front of the house. Nothing unusual in Los Santos; hell, sometimes the _absence_ of a siren was more worrying.

Michael bit back a yawn and reached for the tumbler on the side table at his left, downing the remaining scotch. He glanced at the bottle where it sat on the kitchen counter and thought briefly about another glass, but then another yawn crept up on him.

It'd been a long fucking day, driving to Paleto Bay and back. Fun, though. It wasn't every day that he got to race a whip like that. Dodging traffic, owning the road... it was like something out of a big budget action flick, complete with quippy sidekicks and a shady businessman behind the whole thing.

As Michael stood up from the couch, he realised that the siren was still going out front. If Jim had been around, he'd chalk it up to some stupid stunt he'd pulled, but the house was still empty. Rounding the corner, he saw red and blue lights playing against the white walls of the foyer, scattering oddly through the stained glass of the front door. And then, suddenly, the siren and lights died.

He took a few cautious steps towards the door, his movements cut off by a series of short, sharp knocks.

"Sherriff’s Department! Open up."

Feeling more pissed off than concerned, Michael let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair. His patience for dealing with cops was in pretty short supply most the time to begin with, let alone when he was dead-tired.

Another series of knocks came again as he wrapped his hand around the door handle. "Fuck yourself," he muttered under his breath, drawing the door open.

"Took you long enough," Trevor said. "You going blind _and_ deaf in your old age, Townley?"

Michael looked Trevor over. He was still wearing the highway patrol uniform from earlier in the day, and there was a LSPD cruiser in the driveway. He had no idea _why_ , but he wasn't overly surprised, either. Pretty tame shit, where Trevor was concerned.

"I... I was asleep."

Trevor shook his head. His thumbs were hooked into the black belt of the uniform, and he shifted his stance before he spoke again, rocking his hips forward slightly. "Likely story. Got a few reports of a real rager going on up here."

Michael sighed and braced his forearm against the doorjamb, blocking Trevor’s path. "What do you want, T?"

"Just doing my job. Keeping the peace and all that."

Michael’s laugh was earnest. "Kudos on keeping a straight face on that one."

Trevor frowned. "Fuck you, Michael. Are you really so fucking dense? Have all these years in Los Santos really dulled your imagination that badly?"

Michael knew Trevor wasn't joking around, now. For as much of an enigma as Trevor was a lot of the time, he still made it pretty damn obvious when his feelings were on the line.

"Or has it really just been that long," Trevor continued, taking a step closer to where Michael stood in the doorway, until there was only an inch or two between them, “since someone's taken an interest—a real fucking interest—in you?"

Straight to the bone, that's how Trevor had always played it. At least there was a small comfort in the familiarity.

"Rhetorical question. I already know the answer to that one." Trevor reached forward, cupping his hand between Michael’s thighs. Michael inhaled sharply at the contact. "Now, you gonna let me in for questioning or am I gonna have to cuff you?"

Michael fought the urge to buck into Trevor's hand, there on the doorstep, and took a step back to let Trevor past.

Trevor sauntered into the foyer and unhooked a pair of handcuffs from his belt, twirling them around his finger and turning to face Michael.

"Up," he said, pointing upstairs. "I ain't gonna... _interrogate_ a guy in his front hall."

"When did you grow a sense of decency?"

"Hey! I am _the law_ , boy, so you better check that bitter-as-fuck attitude of yours."

Michael scoffed and shook his head, heading for the stairs. He heard the heavy fall of Trevor’s boots behind him, and remembered that first sight of him in the getup earlier in the day. It’d suited him—the tight, beige pants hugging his thighs, the cut of the shirt broadening his shoulders even more—and the irony in that wasn’t lost on him.

 When they reached the top of the stairs, Trevor grabbed Michael’s ass, squeezing and pressing a finger just past the cleft, guiding Michael forward to his bedroom.

"Now,” Trevor said, his voice low and rough. “Balcony doors, hands up. Gotta check to make sure you ain't carrying any concealed weapons."

Michael paused and looked over his shoulder at Trevor. "You think all these up on the way over?"

Trevor sighed but there was a slight hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "Just go and spread 'em, you fucking wet blanket."

That was what Michael enjoyed about being with Trevor—moments like that. With Amanda, there was always the weight of their relationship and their floundering marriage to work against. Hell, even with pros, there felt like a certain standard to uphold. But with Trevor, Michael had always had the sense that they fucked for the fun of it, for the sake of fucking. And he hadn't realised how much he’d missed that sort of easiness until it’d burst back into his life on Trevor's heels.

Michael stood in front of the balcony doors, placing his palms against the cool green and orange glass. He glanced over his shoulder again to see Trevor a few feet behind him, watching Michael while he palmed himself over his pants.

Trevor came up close, but not quite close enough. Michael instinctively pushed his hips backwards, looking for contact with some part of Trevor, but there was still too much distance between them.

Trevor’s hands came forward, up under Michael’s t-shirt and snaking around to his front. Long fingers roamed across his skin, carding through the thatch of hair just above his waistband then up over his chest and up further still until Trevor was lifting Michael’s shirt over his head.

Michael leaned against the doors again as Trevor’s hands came to rest on his hips. His fingers dug in, as they always did—possessive and dominant—and then he nudged Michael’s legs apart with a knee. He pulled Michael’s hips back until they connected with his own, his dick hard against Michael’s ass. Trevor rolled his hips, slow and deliberate, grinding against Michael, and he let out a deep huff.

After a moment, Trevor’s hands came forward, leaving Michael’s hips to skim over his stomach. One hand continued up to his shoulder, and Trevor gripped him there, leaning forward until his chest was flush with Michael’s back. Trevor ground his hips forward again, putting his mouth to the top of Michael’s shoulder. He kissed and sucked and bit down, grunting against Michael’s skin. Michael was real fucking hard now, hearing Trevor right under his ear, breath ghosting hot over his skin. He considered taking a hand away from the door to stroke himself, but Trevor was leaning into him so much that he needed the extra leverage.

"Trevor..." Michael ground out, his voice rough.

"Uh-uh." Trevor stepped back. "That’s _Officer T_ to you."

Michael scoffed and dropped his head between his arms. Over his shoulder he heard the light clinking of metal, and his cock twitched in response. Trevor had taken out the handcuffs again.

He took Michael by the shoulder and pulled him upright, before running a hand down Michael’s arm. His touch was light, fingertips barely grazing over Michael’s skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. And then, abandoning any pretence of affection, Trevor took Michael’s wrist and pulled it behind his back, locking a cuff tightly around it, and then doing the same to his other wrist.

"Easy," Michael muttered, trying to twist one of his wrists against the rigid metal.

Trevor came up close behind Michael again and held onto the chain between the cuffs with his left hand. He then snaked his right arm under Michael's and began undoing the button and fly of Michael's jeans, his deft fingers making easy work of them.

Trevor pushed Michael's jeans and boxers down as far as he could with one hand, and then drew his forefinger up the underside of Michael's hard cock, finishing with a loop around the tip.

Michael sucked in a breath. "Jesus, fuck..."

Trevor hummed behind him, and then took Michael’s dick fully in hand and pumped him up and down, hard and quick. Michael moaned, letting his head fall back. He rocked his hips up into Trevor's hand, but Trevor yanked on the cuffs with his free hand in response, as if correcting an unruly dog.

"You got a permit for this thing?" Trevor asked, stroking slowly up Michael's cock, pressing the pad of his thumb down over the slit.

Michael didn't answer right away, savouring Trevor's grip, testing the limit of how long he'd let the question hang there. Trevor played along for a few moments, giving Michael a few quick pumps before he pulled down sharply on the cuffs again.

Michael cleared his throat. "T, don't tell me you came all the way up here just to make a bunch of bad puns..."

Trevor bit out a harsh growl, letting go of Michael's dick and pulling him back a few steps by the wrists. He got in front of Michael and pushed him until his knees connected with the edge of the bed and he fell back. Trevor hooked his hands into the waistband of Michael's jeans and boxers and started tugging them off.

Michael arched his hips to help. "Let me guess: cuffs ain’t coming off, right?"

"Nope," Trevor answered, drawing out the word and pulling Michael's jeans away.

Michael tried to shimmy further back onto the bed, but he couldn't get much leverage so he settled with bracing his heels against the bedframe. Trevor was standing in front of him, blue tie already discarded on the floor and his fingers working the buttons of his shirt. Michael watched from his back, dick lying against his stomach, as Trevor continued to undress. Trevor took his time with it, staring down at Michael as he moved slowly. Michael's cock throbbed, a hot rush of anticipation passing through him, and he let out a frustrated sigh. He needed Trevor to finish what he'd started.

"What's that?" Trevor's voice was teasing, and he stopped in the middle of sliding his pants down. "Got something you wanna say, Mikey?"

"Just..." Michael paused, closing his eyes. "Hurry the fuck up."

Trevor kicked his pants away. He wrapped a hand around his dick, stroking himself in front of Michael with a smirk on his face, hips jutted forward.

It was that cocksure attitude that had drawn him to Trevor from the beginning—how he'd carried himself with so much confidence, when Michael had been struggling just to learn who he was. Hell, he was still struggling with that part, ten years later, and if anything, Trevor had grown even more self-assured.

Trevor’s strokes were long and lazy, and Michael swallowed hard as he watched, transfixed. He wanted that touch badly, to have Trevor's hands on his own cock, and he fought weakly against the cuffs behind his back for a moment.

Trevor scoffed, looking down at Michael for a moment before dropping his head back and letting out a groan. "Fuck, I am _good_ at this," he said, his voice like gravel.

Michael was stuck between wanting to beg for it and feeling too proud to give Trevor the satisfaction.

Trevor never had been one to just hang around and wait for the go-ahead, though.

He moved towards Michael and leaned over him, bracing his hands on the mattress on either side. Then, he quickly jerked his hips forward, his cock rubbing along Michael’s.

The sudden contact was too much for Michael, and he moaned loudly, his hips canting until they connected with Trevor’s. They built a rhythm quickly, Trevor thrusting and grinding against Michael, and Michael answering as best he could with the little leverage he had. Trevor’s head was bowed and his breath hit Michael’s chest in sharp gusts, each exhale punctuated by a hushed grunt.

They’d done this kind of thing before, a lot. It was good, _real_ good, but Michael knew how much better it could get, and he was about to bark at Trevor to _just take the fucking cuffs already_ , when Trevor finally brought a hand down and clasped a fist around both of their dicks at once.

Michael groaned at the added pressure and friction. “Oh hell yeah,” he muttered, quickening the pace of his hips.

Trevor grunted and let out a sharp huff, tightening his grip and matching Michael’s rhythm. For a guy that sure seemed to love the sound of his own voice, Trevor was usually a pretty quiet fuck. Sometimes he’d get bossy, telling Michael exactly what he wanted, and sometimes he’d shout and moan, but most the time, once they really got down to it, he gave up little more than a few hums and grunts.

Michael felt that tell-tale fire catch in his belly before long, and if his hands had been free, he’d have gripped Trevor’s ass and driven against him harder, but as it was he was at the mercy of whatever it was that Trevor wanted.

“I’m fucking gonna—“ he started, before his words fell off into another moan.

“Yeah.” Trevor’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Yeah,” he said again, stilling his hips and slowing his strokes.

The lack of such frenzied movement amplified how good everything felt, and Michael came hard, his back arching off the bed. Trevor let Michael go and pumped himself a few more times before coming on Michael’s hip with a slow, ragged groan.

After a moment, Trevor drew back and bent to pick up the uniform pants from the floor, using them to clean him and Michael off.

Michael sighed and sat up. “Real nice, T. You know, there’re towels in the closet, right there.”

Trevor shrugged and fished around in one of the pants pockets. “Key’s in the pants,” he said, pulling out a small silver key. “Or do you want to stay locked up like that? I mean, I can get into that, if you are.”

“Fuck you and fuck these cuffs,” Michael said.

Trevor laughed and leaned in, reaching behind Michael to unlock the handcuffs.

Michael brought his freed hands forward and rotated one of his wrists a few times. “You enjoyed that a little too much. I’m half-expecting you to segue this into a conversation about an upcoming career change.”

Trevor grimaced, dropping the cuffs on the floor as if the metal had suddenly burned him. “Don’t even fucking joke, Mikey. That hurts.”

Michael laughed and pushed himself off the bed, moving to pick up his jeans. “I don’t know, man. First it’s working with the FIB, then it’s the highway patrol... what’s next, a police chopper?”

Trevor yanked on his underwear and let out a sharp shout. “Fuck you, Townley!”

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, this is my first published fic for GTA V and the bar's been set crazy high by all the awesome authors in this fandom so I hope you guys enjoyed this! I have a multi-chapter thing in progress right now, the first chapter's actually almost done, but I had this particular idea and just had to stop to write it. Because Trevor and Michael both wear those cop uniforms way too well.


End file.
